Amazing Grace
by Jade Caminus
Summary: Mature rating, simply because of how it starts out, and I want to play it safe. Pettigrew's arrested, Sirius is cleared, and Grace Potter is living with her godfather. Perhaps romance, perhaps not. Under a major rewrite.
1. Summer Holidays

Disclaimer: I'm making absolutely no money off of this, all characters except Grace/Gracie Potter are copyright J.K. Rowling, the plot is my own, etc. etc. Please do not flame me for the sake of making yourself feel bigger, better, or smarter than me. I don't think you'd like that if I did it to your story.

Grace threw her arm up to block the blow coming at her, but it didn't do much good. Dudley was just so much bigger than she was, and she was never able to hold him off for long. "Just leave me alone!" She cried, tears springing unbidden at the sharp pain in her arm where his fist impacted. He'd been after her now for fifteen minutes at least, and the bruises were starting to pile up.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing as that? You're far too much fun." Dudley grabbed her raised arm and jerked it down, pinning his cousin's slim form against the wall she'd backed up against. The clean, light floral scent of her shampoo drifted across his nose, along with the tang of her fear and the beginnings of anger. "Oh, now, we can't have that." Using her tiny wrist as an anchor point, he flung her around and slammed her into the wall again.

The breath rushed out of her, leaving her gasping and trying to pull away. "Dudley, just leave me alone, you pervert," she said, as soon as she had enough breath to do so. She wished there was something she could threaten him with; hexes were an empty threat, he knew she wasn't allowed to use magic over the summer. And Vernon and Petunia wouldn't believe her anyway, Dudley was their perfect little angel. He moved forward, looking to press the length of his corpulent body against her, and she shrieked, kicking out at his knee. Amazingly, she connected, and Dudley let go of her, roaring in pain.

Grace seized the opportunity, throwing herself away from her cousin and heading for the stairs as fast as she could. Dudley made to grab at her ankle as she reached the bottom of the staircase, but she kicked at him again. Reflexively, he pulled his hand back, and she leapt over him, landing on the second step up. She didn't stop, taking the stairs two and three at a time, managing to slam her bedroom door closed with less than a foot of space between her back and her cousin. It was all she could do to drag her heavy school trunk in front of the door before he could charge his way in. "Damn you, Uncle Vernon, for putting the locks on the outside."

Dudley was slamming his shoulder against the door, and as he landed a particularly solid blow, her trunk was shifted about an inch. She jumped, and started throwing everything she could into it and on top of it in a last ditch attempt to keep Dudley out. When she'd piled everything on top of it save her chest of drawers, the mattress, and Hedwig's cage, she pulled a scrap of paper and a pen out of the pile and scrawled a hasty message to her godfather. A moment later, the tiny note was tied to Hedwig's foot, and she was flinging open the window. "Find him, Hedwig, fly fast and true. Get me out of this hell."

There was a splintering crash from her door, and Hedwig was airborne. Grace whirled to face the door as her makeshift barricade came crashing down, her hands searching for anything that could be used as a weapon against Dudley. There was another god-awful rending noise from her door, and a second later she'd been manhandled and thrown onto her narrow bed. "That wasn't nice of you, to lock me out and keep me from my fun. I'll have to tell Mother," he sneered, glowering down at her. Grace shrieked and kicked at his stomach. Dudley grabbed her ankle and twisted, eliciting more screams from her.

She knew that at this point anything else she could do would only make it worse. But, she wasn't one to just let him have his way, and she managed a solid enough snap kick at his head. This resulted in a very large fist aimed at her face, and she tried to roll away from the blow. It didn't work, and Dudley's thick fingers collided with her temple at the top of her scar. Her vision swam, black curls starting to obscure things. "Eventually, your parents won't be able to protect you from me," she whispered, clinging to consciousness.

"You know, I'm not overly concerned about that." Dudley hit her again, and nothing mattered to her anymore.


	2. Petunia

She woke to the sensation of cool feathers sliding across her face, and pain in every conceivable place. She was stiff, and the acutely cold sensation across her back side and thighs brought tears. Heedless of her pounding head, Grace sat up and pulled a slim blue packet off the windowsill. She popped a tiny red pill out of it, and swallowed it dry, just like she had every night since she turned eleven, thinking derisively that this was the only thing Aunt Petunia had ever done right by her.

She stood up, and yanked her jeans up viciously. Hedwig rustled softly, and fluttered to the top of the dresser. Grace batted at tears, ignoring the screaming need for a shower, and a means of violence. "Did you find him?" she whispered, gently petting her owl's head. Hedwig stuck out her foot in response, and she pulled the scrap of parchment out of its carrying case. "That's my girl."

_Grace,_ the note began in her godfather's untidy scrawl. _I'm coming for you, as quickly as I can. I'll be there in a day, maybe two. Be ready. -Sirius_

She nodded once, to herself, and tucked the note into her pocket like a talisman. The light coming in through her window was starting to turn that wonderful golden orange color of sunset, and she paused for a moment in the beam of it shining through the glass. Then the moment passed, and she set about reclaiming her small space. The trunk was hauled out from under everything, and opened, the contents that where hastily thrown in taken out and reorganized.

The sound of keys in a lock from downstairs made Grace freeze mid-fold. A split second later, she was shoving her trunk against a wall, and the other bedroom/barricade paraphernalia were getting hastily put back into something resembling the order they had been in that morning.

It was Petunia that made it through the front door first, her beady eyes scanning the foyer and surrounding area for any sign of disturbance. Instantly, her gaze fixated on a family portrait that was hanging slightly crooked off its peg. An almost pained expression crossing her face, she stepped inside and straightened it delicately, then headed up the stairs. She knew without a doubt what had happened after she and Vernon had left, and while she had a tiny soft spot for her niece, it wasn't big enough for her to do more than she already had. When Dudley came and told Vernon that Grace had denied him anything, regardless of what it was, the child would more than likely receive a beating beyond what she'd already received that day.

She knew she shouldn't do it, but she couldn't stop herself this time. Continuing up the stairs, she waved off Vernon's harsh inquiry. A moment later, she was pushing open the door to Grace's room, and froze at the sight of her niece standing immobile near the window, midway through putting the desk lamp back in place. "Grace?" she half whispered, stepping inside and closing the warped door.

Grace straightened slowly, willing herself not to shake. Stiffly, she turned and faced her aunt, a carefully neutral expression on her face. "What can I do for you, Auntie?" It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing the lamp in her hands at the older woman. In an effort to keep from doing just that, she carefully set it down on the desk without looking at where it was going.

Petunia had to stop herself from stepping further into the room and taking Grace in her arms. "Are you alright?" she asked, and winced. Of course the child wasn't alright, but where else was she to start? Its not like she would get anywhere with "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?" or "Did something happen today?"

"I'm fine, Auntie." It came out tight, strained. She was clenching and unclenching her fists at her side, an obvious indication that everything was most definitely _not_ alright, but there wasn't a whole lot that would happen even if she did suddenly decide to trust her aunt. "My godfather will be here in a day or two to take me to London. For my school things."

Petunia's eyes tightened at the mention of Grace's godfather; she tried for years to ignore the fact that her niece was part of a community of people with gifts she could never have, the same gifts her dead sister had. The gifts that had put such a rift in their relationship, that had caused her to resent Lily so much. "Do you want me to tell your uncle?" She could at least try to protect Grace that much, if Vernon didn't find out from her…

"It won't matter. He'll bea--be mad at me no matter how he finds out. Tell him or not, its your choice." She turned around again and started meticulously arranging the items on the desk that she wouldn't be taking to Hogwarts with her. She truly did not want to talk to her aunt at all, she just wanted to be rid of the place for another year.

Petunia took a half step forward involuntarily, and stopped at the sudden tension in the seventeen-year-old's shoulders. Silently, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her as softly as she could. Putting on her best There's-absolutely-nothing-going-on face, she headed down to the kitchen to make dinner. There wasn't anything she could do for her niece, and there wasn't anything she could say to anyone that would excuse her guilt.


	3. Vernon

Three days had come and gone since Grace had gotten Sirius' note, and for those three days, she'd carried it around in her pocket. Petunia hadn't left the house at all, so she was at least granted a reprieve from Dudley as long as she stayed in her room. Midway through the third morning, though, she'd had to concede the requirement for clean laundry, and had slipped noiselessly down the stairs to the basement, basket of clothes hitched up on her hip. She was filling the washer when the sound of a heavy body on the wooden step down into the basement made her stop, soap bottle poised over the open machine.

"Well, now, the waif emerges from hiding." Her uncle's rough voice was easily heard over the sound of running water. He'd been drinking, she could tell by the grating quality of his voice and the stench that had filled the small space when he'd entered. She didn't say anything in response, just carefully poured soap into the washer and capped the bottle. Her uncle was a dangerous man when he wasn't drinking, in his currently inebriated state it would be a delicate task to get through this encounter and not set him off. Silence could sometimes be the best course of action.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" She heard him lurch off the step and fought the urge not to flinch when he lumbered up behind her. If he saw even for a second that she was afraid, there would be a beating worse than even what Dudley could do. She couldn't suppress the tiny gasp of pain that made it out when Vernon grabbed a double fistful of her waist length auburn hair and used it to jerk her around to face him. "You look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Grace met his gaze with dead eyes in response, fighting with herself to keep all traces of fear from her face and her body. Vernon held her like that for a half moment longer, then flung her away with disgust. She caught herself against the washer and carefully pulled the stopper on the agitation cycle. "Your aunt says you've something to tell me," he demanded as she started to load laundry into the machine. "So what is it?" It was less a request and more an order.

"My godfather is coming to get me," she said, voice soft and level. "To go get my school things." She didn't mention it was more than two months early. The basket empty, she closed the lid and pushed the stopper back in. Instantly the washer whirred to life. Slowly, she turned to face Vernon, tension singing through every muscle.

"When is his god-forsaken ass supposed to be here?" He was nearly yelling, just the mention of other people like his miserable waste of a niece was enough to spike his temper. "How dare you tell him where we live!" He swung an arm in Grace's general direction and felt a flush of satisfaction as she flinched.

She couldn't help herself when he'd swung at her, it had been all she could do to stand her ground at all. "When will he be here?!" her uncle thundered, and she flinched again.

"Soon," was all she said, and ducked as he swung at her again. Too slow, his fist connected slightly with the top of her head, and that was enough. Suddenly she found the detergent bottle airborne and headed for her face, followed rapidly by her laundry hamper. Eyes wide, she gasped a little, and fled for the door to the basement. Vernon got there first, and grabbed her by the upper arm, shoving her into the doorjamb. She made to worm out of his grasp, but he squeezed tighter and threw a punch, connecting with her left cheekbone.

The impact of her uncle's fist so close to where Dudley's bruise was made her go weak at the knees, and she sagged. Vernon hit her again, and as he swung a third time, she managed to slip out of his grasp and into the kitchen. Petunia looked up from icing her latest confection that was bound to ruin her stick thin figure, reached into the freezer, and threw Grace an icepack. She caught it and escaped out the kitchen door as Vernon came barreling out of the basement, an accusing look directed at his wife. Petunia smiled sweetly at him and pulled out the frozen truffles that she planned on topping the cake with.

Grace fled into the farthest reaches of the back yard, only to run head first into her cousin. "Oh ho! Father's after you now, is he?" Dudley crowed, catching her by her free wrist. "I'll save him some trouble."

"You won't either," Grace said breathlessly, and shoved her knee into her cousin's groin. Dudley doubled over, and she planted her knee into his abdomen for good measure and fled over the back hedge, icepack in hand.

An hour later, she'd found a hiding place up one of the gnarled old trees at the playground two blocks away. Her icepack was melting fast in the early June heat, but while it was solid, it was doing her newest set of bruises good. She knew she couldn't go back so soon after this latest encounter, even for the fact that she had laundry in the wash. So she sat in her tree, three hours, four, until her icepack had completely melted and was running little rivulets of condensation down her face along with her silent tears.

When the shadows of things were just starting to go long, and the light was turning that wonderfully warm golden color, Grace finally came down from her tree and went back. Carefully, she eased in through the back door, not even letting the screen door slam home. The television was turned up loud enough to mask everything except the telephone and the doorbell, and it made it that much easier for Grace to slip the icepack back into the freezer, and secret the sandwich and note that Petunia had left on the counter for her away into her back pocket. With all the care of a spy, she made her way up the stairs and back into her bedroom.

Delicately closing her bedroom door, she pulled out the sandwich and her aunt's note. _Your laundry is dry and in your trunk. Best that your godfather gets here soon._ She looked up from reading the note just as the doorbell rang, as if on cue. Recklessly, she flung open the bedroom door, and stuck her head out over the banister. She heard her godfather's voice drift up from the foyer, and she could have cried for the relief of it. Seconds later, she'd let Hedwig out the bedroom window, and had tied the empty cage to one end of her trunk. She was sitting demurely on the edge of her bed when Petunia arrived in the open doorway, Sirius Black following politely behind her.


	4. Rescue

The hints of purple bruises on the left side of her face made Sirius go cold inside. It was a knee-jerk reaction to go back downstairs and haul off on the bastard who'd made such marks on his goddaughter, and at the same time pull her into his arms and tell her that she was safe, tell her that no one--least of all one of these Dursley pigs--would lay a hand on her again. But he did neither, just fastened a glacial stare at Petunia as he pushed past her and tipped Grace's school trunk up onto its wheels. "Where's your owl?" He asked Grace roughly, not quite managing to keep himself under control.

"She's out." Her response was flat, dead. She hadn't even looked at him. That alone was enough to bring his temper nearly to boiling. It would be a miracle if they made it out of this house without him hitting something, or even better, someone.

"Come on, then." The trunk made loud thunking noises as he dragged it down the stairs, deliberately heedless of the painfully pristine carpet. They had nearly made it into the foyer and out the door when Sirius' luck ran out.

"Oi! Where the hell do you think you're taking her?" Vernon thundered over the television. Grace shrank back against the nearest wall as he bulldozed his way over a small end table to get to them. "She's not going anywhere! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Taking her away from you," Sirius said stiffly, reaching out and pulling open the front door. If this beast of a man did not get out of his way…

"She's not going," Vernon declared, and grabbed Grace roughly by the shoulder as she made to escape out the open door. She made a half choked sob at the grip on her shoulder, his fingers were curling deep under her collar bone where the shoulder joint met.

That was all it took for Sirius to lose his temper completely and without clear warning to the intended victim. Dropping the trunk, he turned and planted a fist solidly into Vernon's jaw, stunning the large man enough to cause him to release his grip. "Don't ever lay a hand on my goddaughter again, Dursley," he said, breathing hard. It was all he could do to keep himself from beating the man within an inch of his life. Dimly, over the sound of blood in his ears, he heard malicious laughter from the vicinity of the stairwell. Flicking his gaze up for an instant, he saw what had to be Grace's cousin standing about halfway down the stairs. "And don't think I don't know what your son has been doing to her either. Neither of you are ever to touch her again."

"Oh, really," Vernon cackled, the shock of someone actually having the balls to hit him starting to wear off. "And what's to happen if I do let the boy get his hands on her again?"

"This." Sirius pointed a long finger at Dudley and after a few seconds, the teen's laughter started to sound very much like braying. Horrified, Vernon turned and got a look at his son. "Lord, no, not again!" Petunia cried, throwing her hands up and fleeing to the sanctity of her kitchen. Where Dudley had stood a moment before, now stood a horrible conglomeration of man and jackass.

"You put him right," Vernon said ominously. "Put him right this instant, or I'll-"

"No more threats from you, Dursley," Sirius said, just as dangerously. He pointed the same finger at the large, purple faced man. "If either you, or your son touches her again, you'll get the same thing. And next time, it will be permanent."


	5. Malfoy

She'd slept most of the way to London, more as a means of coping with the strained silence between her and Sirius. For his part, he was more comfortable with her asleep. She had changed a lot in the last four years, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. The paternal part of him missed the innocent thirteen-year-old girl she'd been, and half resented the quiet, withdrawn young woman she'd become.

It took him three days to get her to relax enough to give him more than a weak smile, and another two to get her to laugh outright. He never asked about the now vibrantly Technicolor bruises on her face and arms, or why she woke up in the night screaming obscenities at what Dumbledore called her family.

After a particularly bad night, Sirius pressed a fistful of Galleons into her hands and told her to go get herself something nice. Grace gave him an if-you-say-so kind of look, and disappeared into the writing mass of people crowding Diagon Alley.

She'd spent a few Knuts on an ice cream from Florian's, and was wandering past the bookstore trying to fathom just what she should spend the rest on, or for that matter, if she should spend the rest, when the mannequin in the window of Madame Malkin's caught her attention. The mannequin was dressed not in a set of robes, but a evening gown; a shimmery, silver number with clean lines and a crisp elegance that reminded her that every so often, it was nice to get dressed up. She didn't need it, ultimately had nowhere to wear it to, since there wasn't going to be a dance at school this year, but she went in and tried it on anyway.

The gown fit like Madame Malkin had made it with Grace in mind, and was cut particularly low in back, showing off the hand shaped bruises on her shoulders like a painting on display. The bruises would fade, and how she wanted the dress. She twirled in front of the Madame's triple mirror, and froze as she came around to face the shop's windows. Draco Malfoy was staring in at her like he'd just been struck dumb.

Madame Malkin broke her horrified rapport, tugging at the sleeve settings to adjust the fit. Grace flashed her a weak smile and a thank you before fleeing back to the dressing room. She'd just finished pulling her shirt on when she heard the shop bell tinkle, and started hauling on her sneakers as fast as she could. If she could avoid talking to Malfoy, maybe he'd grow a brain and keep his mouth shut at school for once. The less ammunition she gave him, the better. She pulled the curtain back to make a hasty retreat, and found herself confronted with none other than the man she was trying to avoid.

"Potter," he said, the standard Malfoy sneer in place, but not as genuinely malicious as usual.

"Malfoy," she replied quietly, forcing herself to respond. _He's not Vernon, or Dudley. Him, you can handle._

He opened his mouth to say something typically snide, but nothing came to mind and he shut it again, instead using the moment to take deep stock of her. Yes, those really were bruises he'd thought he'd seen through the window, all down the left side of her face. There was about a four inch gap from her jaw line where they stopped, to the base of her neck where they started up again, abruptly vibrant against the paleness of her skin. Without thinking, he stretched out a hand and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Who did this to you?" he whispered, half to himself.

Grace went very still under his hand, most of it her now instinctive frightened animal response, and only a little of it shock. She didn't answer his question, and he took his hand away from her face a second later, a look of confusion on his face. She took the opportunity to push past him, and escaped out the door, searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide where there wasn't another person she knew, or would know her.


	6. Choices

Draco agonized for hours over how he could possibly get her to spend more than five seconds with him. The whole time, he kept rubbing his fingers together, the silken sensation of her skin lingering. He had a good idea of where she might be staying, but sending anything to the Leaky Cauldron with her name on it seemed not only heavy handed, but cowardly on his part. Ultimately, he ended up just going to the Leaky Cauldron and hanging around until she came back from wherever it was she'd run to.

He had to act fast once she did get back though; the second she saw who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs she'd turned and headed out the door again. "Potter, wait!" he called, launching himself across the pub and catching her by the arm. "I just want to talk to you."

Grace went absolutely rigid under his hand the moment he grabbed her. "Let go of me," she whispered, making a monumental effort to keep herself from shaking. He wasn't squeezing hard, truth be told he was barely holding her at all, but the pressure of his hand against her upper arm was too much like Dudley's for her to stand. "Let go. Now."

He let go, pulling away carefully, as if she were a wounded animal. "Just don't go, all I want is to talk. Please." The doorway was wide open to her, he made no move to block her avenue of escape. "A few minutes is all I'm asking."

She took a deep breath, trying to center herself without appearing to, aware of his eyes on her the whole time. "Just a minute then," she acquiesced, pushing the door open in front of her. She led him out into the bright sunshine, thinking to find a place where they could sit down and have his chat without anyone from school seeing them. There was nowhere suitable that she could see, and they ended up walking slowly down Diagon Alley while they talked.

"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" Grace asked bluntly after they'd been wandering for a few minutes in a tense silence. She felt a flash of amusement as he opened his mouth to respond, shut it, opened it again, and threw up his hands in frustration. "That's a wonderful impression of a carp, but its not helping you any."

"You're not exactly making it any easier, you know," Draco muttered, trying to find the right way to put the words together so he wouldn't sound an ass. It would be so much easier if he could put an act on it, take her hand in his and do the whole moonlight sweetheart bit. But after the way she'd reacted to such a normal thing as him catching her by the arm, he was afraid he'd lose any small chance he had if he touched her again. "I'm sorry," he said in a rush, and winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It sounded completely like a cop out, and he knew that she knew it.

Grace grimaced a little at the failed attempt, and decided that she'd lead him into wherever it was he was trying to go a bit, though she was starting to put it together from his nervousness. "Sorry about what?" she asked, almost dreading the answer and where it would go.

He shouted a silent thanks at her, for giving him the opening he'd not been able to create himself. "I'm sorry about all the stuff I said to you, or did to you, or whatever." He winced again, it sounded so lame. "All of it, every single instance. And I sound so completely assheaded, for apologizing, I know. I wish I had the balls to just come out and tell you what I really want to. But."

It all clicked. "But you're afraid I won't understand, you're afraid of being rejected, and you're afraid of what other people will think," she finished for him, stopping to lean against the warm brick wall of a vacant shop. Her insides were turning knots, she couldn't quite get her mind around the fact that she and Draco Malfoy were actually having this conversation.

"Yeah, something like that," he said quietly, still being excruciatingly careful not to touch her. She'd pegged it exactly, and he wondered if he was always so transparent.

"Do you honestly care what people think?"

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he realized the truth of it. Oddly, it didn't really surprise him that much, given how much effort he'd put into being accepted as _the_ person to be friends with at school.

"And you're telling me what I think you're telling me, with the accompanying question its got?" Draco had to admit, she could be absolutely ruthless when she wanted to be.

"Yes," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a rush. "Yes, I'm saying that, and yes, I'm asking."

She wanted to slide down the wall right there, liquefy herself and ooze down into the drainage gate. Not from joy, or excitement, but simply because she didn't have an answer for him that wasn't going to sound like flat out rejection. She closed her eyes against the afternoon sunlight, a pained expression crossing her face. She chose her words carefully, before she opened her mouth. "I'm not saying yes, and I'm not saying no. I just think we need to work on the friends side of things, so we can both get our minds around this a bit." _Its not no, I'm not saying no. I'm just not saying yes either. Please understand._

It stung, to hear her say a variation of the thing he'd been dreading the most. Granted, he could see where she was coming from, and if his guesses about her bruises were right, it would take her a very long time to trust him. He forced the hurt aside for the time being. There was a possibility yet, and that would suffice. "I can live with that."

Grace opened her eyes and twitched the corners of her mouth up in a wry little smile. "Alright then." And then, she did the best thing she could think of to make him feel a little better. She reached out and squeezed his hand, and kept hold of it as they walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron.


	7. Trust

Not even a full day after her quiet peace treaty with Malfoy, Grace's small bubble of tranquility was shattered. She was rudely awoken by Sirius arguing loudly with a Ministry official just outside the door to her room at the Leaky Cauldron. She shot out of bed and dressed, throwing things back into her trunk as rapidly and silently as she could. By the time her visitor from the Ministry of Magic had had enough and flomped grumpily through her door, she had long since escaped out the window, the rumpled bed being the only indication that she'd even been in the room for any period of time.

It took a great deal of effort for her to avoid the inordinate number of Ministry flunkies in Diagon Alley; it appeared that the authorities were bound and determined to see her returned to Privet Drive. She was focused entirely on tucking her auburn hair up under a black scarf and didn't notice who was around her until someone called her name loudly. Jerking her head up, she identified the voice in question.

Draco Malfoy was moving rapidly down the sidewalk toward her, oblivious to the blue robed official who was following his gaze in an effort to locate her. Malfoy was within arm's reach, and she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the shop nearest to them. "What the--" he started, but Grace cut him off with a sharp look.

"The Ministry is here, they're looking for me," she muttered, turning away from the window and pretending to be absorbed in a magazine. A stray lock of hair drifted down from the loose scarf and she absently tucked it behind her ear. "They want me to go back."

Malfoy moved close to her, for all appearances reading over her shoulder. He was well aware of how she stiffened defensively, but he didn't move. "Go back where?" he whispered as she flipped the page.

"To Privet Drive, back to my uncle's." He was closer than she was comfortable with, and it was all she could do not to twitch away from where his chest brushed her arm. "I'm not going back if I can help it, I know what will happen."

Draco squeezed her shoulder without thinking, meaning it to be a comforting touch. She flinched almost violently, and he pulled his hand away. "Sorry." It came out so very soft, almost inaudible. He only had himself to blame; he'd know previously how she handled being touched, but it still stung.

It was amazing to her, the fact that she felt the depth of guilt that she did when his whispered apology made it to her ears. Grace felt the pang of remorse wrap itself around something inside of her and the idea that she should do something to make up for her involuntary reaction floated to the surface of her mind. "You shouldn't be," she murmured, looking up at him. "You haven't done anything to be sorry for."

Her eyes were green, a deep, true shade that would have looked unnatural on anyone else. He couldn't meet them for more than a moment though, it made it hard to keep his very small distance. "I do though. I know you don't…I shouldn't have touched you, without your permission," he faltered, voice still almost inaudibly soft. _It won't happen again._

It nearly took her breath away, how awful she felt. Biting her lip, at a complete loss for something to say, Grace decided that action would be better than words. Setting the magazine back on its rack, she tucked herself up under his arm, sliding her arms around his midsection in a very hesitant hug. He smelled wonderful, a combination of fine cigar smoke and soap.

There was no conscious decision to pull her tighter against his chest, just the irresistible urge to hold and protect her. Draco held her as close as he dared, savoring every second she gave him. It was an effort to let her go when she pulled away, holding her like that had felt the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling away just far enough so she could look up and see his face clearly. "I should not react the way I do, and I'll try not to. I can't promise anything more than that I'll try."

"I'll never ask more of you than that."


	8. The Ministry

They spent the better part of the day dodging blue robed stooges; Grace slowly learning to relax around Draco. Their luck ran out near dinner time, when they slipped into a small café to grab a bite to eat. It was more crowded than they'd expected, and within seconds of stepping inside, they were spotted by three Ministry officials. To make things worse, a rather portly witch crowded in behind them, effectively cutting off the only viable escape route.

The Ministry wizards stood up from their coffees and moved towards the two teenagers. Grace backed up into Draco with a bump, instinctively trying to put as much distance between herself and the older men as possible. Draco slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently, kissing the top of her head as he did so. "It will be alright," he murmured into her scarf covered hair. "Its only another few weeks you'll be there, you'll be okay."

"No, I won't be," she whispered back, furious with herself for the tremor in her voice. Regardless of the fact that they had a truce, or maybe more so because of it, she didn't want him to see she was afraid.

Carefully taking her by the shoulders, Draco spun her around to face him. He pulled her into another hug, wishing he could keep her with him. "Don't think about what will happen when you go back," he said quietly, relishing the silken feeling of her hair under his cheek. Her scarf was coming loose, rich red curls tumbling down her back and over his hands. He wrapped his fingers in a handful of it. "Don't think about what they'll say or do. Just think about going back to school and seeing everyone on the train."

She didn't say anything, just buried herself in his arms wishing she could hide. She was shaking nearly violently, all pretenses tossed to the wind. She could hear the Ministry officials shoving their way closer, and she tried to shut out the noise.

It broke his heart how desperately she was holding onto him. He knew he probably shouldn't, he'd pressed his luck so many times today, but he couldn't help himself. Gently he pulled away just far enough to kiss her, sliding one hand lightly up her neck to cup her face, fingers buried deep in her hair. She didn't freeze up, surprisingly, or pull away, just let him kiss her. When he pulled away a moment later, she was staring at him like she'd never seen him before.

"Grace Potter, you are to return to Privet…"

They weren't listening. "Think about that," he whispered, crumpling a scrap of paper into her hand and squeezing her fingers gently. "Think of me." The Ministry wizard, tired of being ignored, grabbed her roughly by her bruised shoulder. The sharp pain broke her stunned silence, and she gasped a bit as he pulled her backwards.

"Your effects have already been taken back to Privet Drive, and you will be transported there forthwith via Side Along Apparition," the wizard said stuffily. "Good day to you, Master Malfoy. See to it that next time you don't interfere quite so thoroughly." And with a loud crack, the official disappeared, Grace stiff as a board beside him.


	9. Home Again

Vernon grabbed her by the arm and hauled her violently inside the second the Ministry wizard disapparated. He all but threw her up the stairs, shouting obscenities as he lumbered after her. Grace, fleeing before him as fast as she could go, caught the toe of her shoe on one of the stairs and fell. She felt something in her ankle give way as she twisted to avoid a large, meaty fist, but managed to heave herself up and hobble for the marginal safety of her room as fast as she could go.

She'd nearly made it when a well planned swing sent her sprawling. It was everything she could do to make it to her hands and knees in an attempt to reach the scant shelter of the doorjamb, straining to get there even as Vernon's thick fingers closed around her swelling ankle. He yanked hard, and suddenly her face was within range of his fists. She threw and arm up to block his blow, and the resulting impact sent waves of numbness up and down her arm. She wasn't able to block the next one; he batted her arm away with one hand and brought his other fist crashing down on the side of her face as she tried to turn away. He shouted a particularly vulgar set of obscenities at this, and hit her again.

Bright pinpoints of light flashed in her vision, every tiny movement made her head swim. She felt her lips trying to form words, a plea for mercy, for help, but was sure they weren't heard. Grace could hear Petunia's voice as if from a great distance, but couldn't make out what was being said. She struggled weakly against the grip on her ankle, and to her great, though strangely detached surprise, felt her uncle let go.

Large hands fitted themselves under her arms, and she felt heat across the backs of her thighs where the carpet dragged against her pants. A moment later, the familiar scent of Petunia's favorite laundry detergent filled her nose as she was dumped unceremoniously onto her bed. "You owe me," Dudley's voice whispered maliciously in her ear, and Grace let herself go.

"For God's sake, Vernon, you'll make her bleed all over the carpet!" Petunia shrieked as her husband made to hit Grace again. She couldn't protect the girl directly, but she could help by making an appearance at protecting her home. Besides, the statement was true enough, there was a deep gash across Grace's forehead where Vernon's wedding ring had made contact. Blood was already starting to trickle down her face inexorably towards the pristine cream colored carpeting.

"She's told those freaks where we live!" He thundered back at her. Grace struggled, and in his distraction, she slipped out of his grasp. "I told her never to tell them where we live! That…that…_man_ said he was taking her away!" He flung a hand out, gesturing towards where his son was dragging the battered form away. "She wasn't supposed to come back, I won't have one of them in my house! I won't have it!"

"Vernon," Petunia said, forcing herself to take a deep breath and bring the volume down out of the troposphere. Really, what would the neighbors think if they kept going on like this? "You know just as well as I do, they've known for years where we live. There's nothing we can do about that. Now come down and have a brandy."

"Petunia, I won't have it! She's come back every bloody time they've taken her away, every time, like a bad penny. If I can't keep it out, I'll beat it out of her. I. Will. Not. Have. A. Witch. In. My. House!" And he was abruptly silenced by the large glass of brandy Petunia pressed into his hand.

"If that's the case, at least you could make an effort to keep the mess off Mom's carpet," Dudley said from the staircase.

"Don't you get involved in this, your mother and I are having a discussion," Vernon shot back, not bothering to look over his shoulder at Dudley.

"An argument more like," Dudley said sardonically. "If you're so bound and determined not to have her, why not just chuck her out? Its not like we can be forced to keep her."

Vernon rounded on his son. "Your mother and I are having a discussion," he repeated slowly, so as to be sure Dudley understood this time. "If you cannot keep your peace while we're talking, go to your room. I don't care what you do there, but go to your room."

And Dudley, laughing to himself and planning all sorts of interesting things to do the next day while his mother was out, went to his room.


	10. Just This Once

She hurt, everywhere. Even thinking about moving hurt, but the crusty feeling of dried blood and the stench of sweat and fear in her clothes and hair dictated that a shower was a necessity, not a luxury. Grace balled up her fist in preparation to sitting up, and felt something crinkle in her hand. Gingerly she sat up, and after picking away the trail of blood sealing her eyes shut, she opened her fist.

The bit of paper that Malfoy had given her had survived her reintroduction to life at Number 4, though it looked rather worse for the wear. She uncrumpled it, and blinked in surprise. Written in an untidy scrawl amazingly similar to her own was an address and a two word message: Write me. Her immediate reaction, had she been anything other than bloody, battered and bruised, would have been to throw it away. As things were, the quiet reaffirmation of their truce was as much comfort as a hug from Sirius would have been.

Grace refolded the paper, and tucked it into the nightstand drawer. Stiffly, she stood up and only just managed to stifle a scream down to a pained whimper when she put too much weight on her now injured ankle. It was a long, slow hobble to the bathroom, made all the more difficult by the fact that she had to pass Dudley's room. He had his television going; from the muffled sound of gunfire, she guessed he was playing a game.

Closing the bathroom door with a gentle click, she was greeted by her reflection in the mirror.

The entire left side of her face was a nauseating pattern of green, yellow, and purple bruises, the purple only the faintest tinge along the outer edges. For a brief moment, she wished for access to makeup and the skill to use it effectively, but the thought passed as she started to inspect the rest of the damage.

There was in addition to the bruising, a fair sized gash across her forehead, cleanly bisecting her existing scar. Bits of dried blood still clung to her eyelashes, and when she gently tested her teeth with her tongue, it felt like there were several that were loose. With a muffled sound of disgust, she turned away from the mirror and started the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, she extracted herself from the blissfully hot stream of water and toweled off. It was only as she was wrapping her hair up in the towel that Grace realized that she'd neglected to grab a clean set of clothes, or even a bathrobe. Mentally berating herself for this massive oversight, she scrubbed her hair mostly dry and wrapped the towel as firmly around herself as she could get it. Praying that Dudley had gone to sleep, she slipped out of the bathroom.

Grace shrank back against the door almost immediately, as her aunt was standing in Dudley's open door. Petunia's bony frame only partially blocked the light streaming into the hallway, voice barely audible above the pause music on whatever game it was her cousin had been playing. Terrified, Grace's eyes jumped from the scene in front of her to the partially open door of her room. Glancing back at her aunt before making her decision, Grace saw Petunia's fingers, which were braced casually against Dudley's door frame, giving her the international sign for "go".

Without another second's hesitation, Grace skittered down the hall as fast as she could, sending a grateful prayer to whatever gods had deigned give her Aunt Petunia at that moment. Slipping into her room, she closed the door as softly as she could and yanked on a clean set of pajamas.

She was woken the next morning to the sound of her uncle's car door slamming shut and the engine revving as the vehicle pulled out of the drive. She got up and changed into jeans and a tee shirt, and during the hunt for a clean pair of socks was interrupted by Dudley.

"Well now. Seeing as how they've gone and left us alone, I do believe its time for me to pick up where I left off," Dudley said calmly, leaning against her doorframe. Grace didn't respond, just kept hunting through her dresser drawers.

Dudley oozed into the room, crowding into her space. He put his hands on either side of her, sliding them down to fit on the upper curve of her hips. Grace suppressed the shaking as best she could, and kept looking for socks. It was harder to keep up the pretense as he pressed his face against her neck and inhaled, slipping his thumbs under the hem of her shirt. She closed her eyes and fought to ignore the sensation of large hands sliding up her back, pushing her shirt out of the way, fought to keep the tears that were welling up behind her eyelids from falling. They would do her no good.

There was a thick buzzing noise building in her head, the kind that presaged a spectacular loss of control. The kind that would get her expelled. The tears started their slow, inexorable slide down her face; she couldn't fight both her gift and her cousin at the same time. Absolutely amazed with herself at the decision she was making, Grace banked the power that was building, pressed it down until the buzzing noise was less an angry hive of bees and more static. The amount of concentration it took was almost enough to distance her from what Dudley was doing. Almost.

The pressure built again as he pulled her away from the dresser and back towards the bed. It was only the thought that in another few weeks, if she could keep this under control, she'd be going back to school and would never have to come here again that kept her from letting her temper take its course_. Just another few weeks,_ she thought, focusing back in on her gift. She wouldn't get expelled, not for this. Things would only be worse for her if she ended up banned from school. With that thought on the forefront of her mind, she let Dudley have his way. Just this once.


	11. Farewell to Privet Drive

The next handful of weeks passed in a haze of terrified fleeing and pain. It became harder for Grace to keep control of herself, and in an effort to maintain the little she had left, she spent an inordinate amount of time in her room sleeping. Or tried to. At one point, Dudley, who was becoming irritated at the lack of…entertainment his summer holidays were providing, complained to his father. Vernon subsequently informed Grace that if she didn't start spending more time outside her room, there would be no means of getting to the train station come September 1st.

And so it went, until the day she was supposed to leave for school. Dudley invaded her room under the pretense of helping her pack. When he started in on his ritual last-day-of-the-holidays beating, Grace's tight hold on herself slipped just the slightest bit and she hauled off on him. Her small fist connected with his jaw, and she heard his teeth click together as her eyes widened in horror. Dudley, incensed, aimed at her temple with his own fist, and she ducked, though it didn't do her a whole lot of good. His other hand caught her by the shoulder and he bore her down, pinning one of her arms between them, and the other behind her back.

Grace felt a sharp snap in her arm as they landed hard against her school trunk, and the resulting wave of pain would have had her unconscious on the floor had it not been for the amount of adrenaline running through her. As it was, she had to fight to keep her stomach under control as Dudley hauled her upright by her hair and planted a solid blow on her cheek.

"Remember me by that, bitch," he spat, shoving her into the wall. Grace slid down the wall as he stalked out of the room, knowing that anything she said would bring him back in for another round. Slowly, she pulled herself back together and finished loading her trunk, the process made more difficult by having a broken arm.

Hours later, she was unceremoniously dumped out of the car at King's Cross, and only Petunia's nagging was enough to ensure that she had at least minimal assistance in obtaining a baggage cart. Beyond that, she was left on her own. Not that she minded terribly, though it was irksome to be getting the sympathetic, pitying and abhorrent looks from a train station full of Muggles given her current state.

Grace was never quite sure how she managed to maneuver the cart through the crowded station and the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, let alone onto the Hogwarts Express one handed. It was with a light-headed sense of relief that she was able to find an empty compartment, and she dragged her trunk in and slid the door closed. She had a good three hours yet before she had to worry about Ron and Hermione coming to look for her--they would be up at the front of the train with the other prefects getting their start of the year information.

As the train started to move, Grace pulled down the window shade. Leaving her trunk where it was, she curled up in the corner seat. The vibrations of the train picking up speed made her broken arm throb, and given a choice between being miserable and being asleep, Grace chose sleep.

That was how Draco found her, an hour and a half later. Stepping carefully around her trunk, he knelt in front of where she sat, curled defensively up on herself. Without touching her, he took as detailed a stock of her condition as he could. The bruises on her face were too purple to be brand new, but layered over the mottled color he could see the white imprints of where a fist had connected. Her left arm was held close to her body at a slightly odd angle, and there looked to be a fair bit of swelling near her wrist. He couldn't tell if it was broken or if it was just the way she was situated. The fact that she was wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt in the early September heat told him volumes.

He must have made some kind of noise, because she started violently, eyes darting around the small compartment. When her gaze landed on him, Draco saw the flash of recognition and the careful façade she wore at school start to click into place behind her eyes.

"Grace," he said softly, at the same time hurt and unsurprised to see her guard come up so quickly. There was a long way to go before that would disappear. Maybe it never would. He wanted to touch her, remind her that he at least would never raise a hand to her, but he held still.

"Draco," she said in response, voice thick with sleep and pain. Why, of all people, did he have to be the one to find her first? She wasn't ready to deal with him yet, truce or no. But his gray eyes were so full of concern that she couldn't bring herself to push him away.

"Grace, what happened?" Draco asked, giving voice to the question even though he knew the answer. Every year she'd shown up on the train in versions of this same state. Slowly, he moved to take her hand, and stopped when she flinched away from him.

"I fe--" she almost lied. She closed her eyes. "No. Dudley and Vernon happened." _No point in lying to anyone anymore,_ she thought. But saying the words felt like an admission of guilt, and she felt her breath hitch as the last hold she had on herself started to fray.

"Come here." He eased himself into the seat next to her and slipped one arm around her narrow frame, gathering her close to him. This close, he could clearly see where the break in her forearm was, and carefully tucked her elbow in close to her to avoid bumping it. The movement had to be painful for her, but the only indication was another hitch in her breathing that could have been a poorly suppressed sob.

He still smelled of cigars and soap, and the scent brought back the day they'd spent together in Diagon Alley, the feeling of his lips on hers, and how for a fleeting moment, she'd felt safe around him. That in and of itself was enough to shred the last threads of control she had and start the tears flowing fast and hot down her face. More than anything that summer, she'd craved the comfort of being held, so much so that she couldn't breathe properly around the wracking sobs that her wish being granted elicited.

Draco shifted in his seat, lifting her gently into his lap and sliding into the corner seat so he could lean comfortably against the wall and still hold her. He could do nothing more than pet her hair and hold her while she cried, against such a tide of anguish, words would be useless.


	12. Transitions

"What the hell is going on here?!" Ron Weasley's roar shocked Draco back to full consciousness. Grace had long since cried herself out and fallen back asleep, head pillowed on the center of his chest. A quick glance out the window where the shade gapped told him they were about halfway to the school.

"Stow it, Weasley," he said thickly around a yawn. Grace was heavy against him, and her weight combined with the late summer heat made him want to go back to sleep without a second thought. "And before you start in on me, no, I didn't hex, curse, bully or beat her."

"What did you do then?" Ron's voice was still unreasonably loud for the small space; Draco felt Grace scrunch her face up as she cuddled closer against him. Ignoring Ron's continued demands for an explanation, he turned his attention back to her, smoothing her hair away from her face and gently kissing the top of her head. It wasn't until she relaxed against him again that he looked up, and the expression on Ron's face was nearly enough to make him laugh.

"He didn't do anything, and that's the point, Ron," Hermione Granger's voice said from outside the door. "Let me in, will you? I want to see how bad it is this year."

"And you're just going to believe him, are you?" Ron said irritably as they shuffled around. Eventually, Hermione squeezed past him through the compartment door as he hauled Grace's trunk into the luggage rack.

"I never said th--" Hermione broke off as she got a good look at Grace. "Oh, sweety, they really did a number on you this time, didn't they?" she murmured softly, making to brush a bit of hair out of her friend's face.

"Don't wake her," Draco said sharply, tightening his arms around Grace protectively.

Hermione wasn't completely listening. "Why wouldn't you let us help her, you old fool?" she asked the room at large. "We've been telling you for years, and you wouldn't let us help when it would do her the most good!"

Draco looked to Ron for some sort of translation to this exclamation. "Dumbledore," Ron said with a shrug. "We've been telling him since first year what they do to her, ever since Hermione got a look at how bad the bruises really were. He wouldn't let Mum take her for more than a couple weeks every summer, and after the World Cup, not even that. Said she was safer with them than with us."

Draco goggled at them both. "And why didn't you go get her anyway? Safer there? Look at her!" he spluttered.

"I know." Ron gave one of those gallic shrugs that said everything and nothing. "What's worse is that Grace told us to stop trying to help her over the summers. She told us not to write, told 'Mione not to call."

"She said they hit her harder when they knew she'd been in contact with other wizards," Hermione interjected, voice hard. "She told me that at one point her uncle had managed to catch Hedwig and…"

"I nearly lost her," Grace mumbled, having awoken at last. "It was weeks before I could let her out; I didn't know if she'd make it to Ron's at all." Hermione squeaked at the sound of her voice and moved as if to crush Grace in a hug but checked herself halfway through the motion. Grace cracked an eyelid at the sound. "Hi 'Mione, Ron. How was your summer?"


	13. Hogwarts

The last half of the train ride passed uneventfully, Grace simply pulling her black school robes on over her Muggle clothes when the time came. "Uniforms be damned," was all she said when Hermione started to object. "Its not like I'll be seeing the Sorting anyway."

It was easy enough to escape the crush of students once they all got into the school, Draco having long since vanished into the crowd. On her own, Grace made her way to the Hospital Wing, hoping to catch Madame Pomfrey before the feast started. She lucked out, and was able to get the Madame to fix her arm and make it back down to the Great Hall just as the Sorting ended.

She waited outside the doors until the applause for the newest Hufflepuff started before she slipped in. Moving quickly, she made her way down the long tables, settling down between Hermione and Ron just as the applause died down.

"You didn't let her do anything about your face!" Hermione hissed accusingly as Dumbledore stood up for his traditional pre-feast speech. "You should have, the first years are staring."

"What's the point in having them magically cured, 'Mione?" Grace whispered back. "They'll be gone in a week or two anyway, and everyone stares." That gave Hermione pause, and by the time she'd sorted out a suitable response, Dumbledore had sat down and the plates in front of them were filling up.

"There you are, Grace! I heard the most _interesting_ thing a minute ago," Lavender's breathless voice sounded from a half dozen seats down the table. Grace closed her eyes, an oh-my-god-hear-we-go expression painted on her face. She heard Ron snort with laughter around a mouthful of potato.

"Hi, Lavender," she said, hoping she didn't sound too irritated. Lavender had that effect on her. "How was your summer?" Not that she really wanted to know, she just really didn't want to hear about what's so all consuming that Lavender had to bring her into it.

"Oh, it was fine," Lavender said airily, jumping up from her seat and wedging herself in between Grace and Hermione. "You'll never guess what I heard on the train." She said it with that snooty singsong that gossips always used when referring to a particularly juicy tidbit.

"What did you hear?" Grace asked, knowing the response was not likely to be good when Lavender used that voice. She shoved a forkful of shepherd's pie in her mouth before Lavender could insist that she just _had_ to guess.

"I heard that Draco Malfoy spent the train ride in your compartment," Lavender said slyly. Grace tried not to choke.

"And where did you hear that?" Hermione demanded. Grace could have cheered, had it not been for Ron's enthusiastic thumping on her back when she'd started to choke.

"Oh, well, it pays to be well informed, you know," Lavender responded coldly.

"Well, either tell us where you heard that unfounded rumor, or go back to your plate. The food's getting cold," Hermione shot back. Wheezing slightly, Grace added her agreement to that end. Thoroughly deflated, Lavender huffed and headed back to her seat.

"Thanks, 'Mione," Grace said, giving her friend a quick hug. "I owe you for that."

"No you don't, its always good to be able to take Lavender down a notch."

Grace managed two helpings of shepherd's pie before giving up; Ron and Hermione both giving her the you-should-eat-more-than-that glare. Laughing, she asked Ron for the new password to Gryffindor Tower. She wanted to get to the dorm before the rest of the house, hoping that by the time the rest of the girls got there she'd have been asleep long enough to stop screaming.

The staircases seemed to be working against her though, and by the time she got to the Tower, she was only a few scant minutes ahead of the rest of the house. Not as much time as she would have liked, but enough to get settled without having to deal with Parvarti and Lavender's incessant chatter. She took the spiral staircase at a run, and when she hit the top landing where her dormitory should have been, she was confronted instead by five doors, each labeled with the surname of the girls she usually roomed with.

Delighted with the new sleeping arrangements, Grace slipped into her new room.


	14. Potions

Classes for the next few days proceeded much as usual, with the exception of Draco Malfoy's remarkable--according to Ron anyway--change of character. Rather than dropping snide comments in the halls when they crossed paths, Malfoy had taken to simply nodding an acknowledgement to Ron or Hermione, and snatching a few seconds conversation with Grace when he could. This behavior only gave strength to the rumor mill surrounding both Grace and Draco, and Lavender was looking so smug that Grace wanted nothing more than an opportunity to take her down a few pegs.

And then came her first day of Advanced Potions. She'd been dreading the trek down to the dungeons, it always took her a good month's worth of classes to adjust herself to Snape's particular brand of abuse. It didn't help any that the deepest of her bruises were only now starting to turn that wonderful sickly green color that meant they were healing, and the resulting riot of color across her face only added to the attention she normally received from the rest of the student body.

"Take your seats, two at a table," Snape's voice said from the vicinity of the blackboard. "Potter, you're not to sit with either Weasley or Granger."

Grace had anticipated that, and had headed towards the far side of the dungeon. There were only a handful of seats open on this side, seeing as the Slytherins had a tendency to claim it as theirs, and the few that were open filled up within seconds of her aiming for an empty seat. Finally, the only one that was available was opposite Blaise Zabini. Resigning herself to a term's worth of failing grades and ridicule, Grace went to sit down.

"Blaise, switch me," Draco said from behind her. "Pansy would be better off with you anyway." Zabini glared at Draco, but switched tables without comment.

"You didn't have to do that," Grace murmured as Snape issued the prerequisite you're-sitting-with-your-tablemate-for-the-term announcement and began to wax eloquent about the day's potion.

"No, but I wanted to, and we'll both have a hope of passing now," he responded, and gestured at the blackboard. With a wisp of a smile on her face, Grace set to work.

Two hours later, the Dreamless Sleep potion they were working on was ready for its first bottling. Grace was filling the last flask from the cauldron as the bell tolled across the grounds signaling the lunch hour. Snape didn't release the class immediately, instead swooping around the classroom inspecting people's flasks of potion.

"Unsurprising, Weasley, that yours may be salvageable only by the facts that it has to sit for a week, and that Miss Granger has no doubt been hissing you instructions," Snape oozed, and Grace watched Ron's face flame red enough to match his hair. He opened his mouth to respond with something that would likely land him a detention, and Grace shook her head at him from across the room. For once, he wisely heeded her advice.

Snape billowed through the rest of the class, leaving downcast eyes and smug faces behind him. Finally, he got to Grace and Draco, with what seemed to be a particularly vile look on his face. "Well now," he hissed, stopping directly behind Grace. "How is it, Potter, that you managed to decant a perfect stage one potion?" He reached over her shoulder and plucked a flask from the table. Grace stiffened, keeping her eyes on the edge of the table. Snape always did this, always crowded into her space. It was his way of telling her that there wasn't anything she could do about him, because he was a teacher. If he knew that it reminded her of how Dudley invaded her space, she was sure he would only see that as an added benefit.

"A response is required, Potter."

"Its not any more difficult than cooking, Professor," she said softly, eyes still on the table. "I simply followed the instructions you wrote on the board." It was tempting to tell him that she'd also improvised a couple of steps when it had become clear that she and Draco had missed a critical juncture in the recipe, but the fact that she could feel his glare on the back of her neck kept her silent.

"Class dismissed."


	15. Realizations

Two months into term, Grace had her first moment of pure, unmitigated terror since leaving the Dursley's. She was in the girls' showers, half listening to Parvarti complain loudly to the room at large about the sudden arrival of Aunt Flo.

"It's not fair!" Parvarti was wailing. "And me with only the light colored knickers. Why this week of all weeks?"

"Buck up and deal, Par," Grace said, fishing around in her bag for a tampon. Finding one, she tossed it across the room and finished doing her tie. "Just be happy I had one of those on hand."

"You're one to talk, Potter," Parvarti snapped. "This kind of thing never happens to you."

Well, that was more or less true. Grace wasn't able to track her cycles to the day, per se, but she'd never once been caught completely surprised or unprepared. "Whose to say it doesn't?" she shot back, trying to ignore a desperate fluttering of nerves. If she was counting right, she was about two weeks overdue for her own courses. "I just don't make an issue of it if it does." Parvarti glared at her and stalked off to one of the stalls.

Sweet mother of Merlin, she was two weeks late. Grace swallowed her panic and went to classes, that thought circling round inside her head like a trapped bird. She wasn't able to focus on the coursework though, and she was sorely tempted to skip her second Potions class of the week, if only to give herself relief from Snape's domineering presence as the day wore on. Having taken refuge at her favorite table in the library during her long break, she'd almost made up her mind to skive off her afternoon class when Draco appeared out of nowhere and took the seat across from her.

"You look like hell," he said, slouching low in the chair.

"Whereas you look perfectly delightful, as usual," Grace shot back dryly, not looking up from her book. She didn't want to see or talk to anyone right now, least of all Draco, but he showed no signs of wandering away any time soon.

"No, I mean it, Grace. You look like hell, all shaken up and pale." He reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. Much to his surprise, she didn't flinch away. "You feeling ok?"

Grace shrugged. "I've not been sleeping well," she lied. She really, really did not want to talk about it.

"I call shenanigans, but I'm not going to push it." He squeezed her hand again. "You do, however, look like some exercise would do you good, or at the very least get your mind off whatever you're brooding over. Come to class with me, and we'll take a long walk afterward, ok?"

She gave Draco a shrewd look. "How'd you know I was thinking about skipping lessons?"

"Gorgeous, you don't hide in the back corner of the library when you're studying, if only because Granger makes you sit with her."

Grace laughed outright at that. "Fair enough. I'll see you in class."


	16. Revelations

Potions had been an exercise in torture, but Grace had suffered through it, and now she and Draco were wandering slowly through the oldest parts of the castle. It felt good to be able to just walk with him, letting the silence stretch.

Draco, for his part, took the silence as an opportunity to watch her. The marks from her uncle and cousin had faded completely, leaving her face pale and unblemished. There were still signs of what she'd gone through at Privet Drive, and one could see them if one looked hard enough. There was a pink, fresh looking scar that cut across the lighting bolt, cleanly bisecting the older scar. It had been easy to miss in the mess of color she'd sported for the first month of school. There was also a look of wariness that still lurked in her eyes, making her face seem so much older than he seventeen years.

She'd pulled her long auburn curls partway back, pinning them so they fell in a rich cascade of color against the austere black of her robes. She reminded him of nothing so much as a china doll.

"You know, this is really going to end up as grist for the rumor mill." Grace's voice, though soft, yanked him abruptly to the present moment.

He shrugged. "So what if it does? They were all going to find out eventually anyway."

"True."

They lapsed into silence again, listening to the quiet shushing noise of their robes and Grace's skirt echo against the walls. Oddly, she'd chosen to wear the more old fashioned school uniform--shirt, jumper, tie, and an ankle length skirt rather than the pleated knee length one that the rest of the girls seemed to prefer. The look didn't really suit her.

"So what's on your mind that's got you so out of sorts?" he asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

She hadn't wanted to tell him, but she had to get it off her chest, and it was with a sense of amazement at herself that she heard her voice blurt out the words. "I'm late."

Oh. Dear. Lord. Hoping he hadn't actually heard what he thought he'd heard, Draco played stupid. "What, late for dinner? Yeah, we'd kinda planned on that."

Grace stopped walking and turned to glare at him. The light streaming through the window behind her made her red hair glint gold. God, she was beautiful.

"No, you prat. I'm two weeks late."

"Christ." Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug, too shocked to really direct the conversation. She resisted, but gave in quickly, seeking what reassurance she could, he guessed. "You must be scared out of your mind."

"You could say that," she said derisively, voice muffled against his chest. "I don't want this. I don't want anything to do with them anymore."

That made him cold through. Surely, she didn't mean...no, she couldn't. Not even those pigs could be that cruel. Surely they had some scrap of decency. But. Slowing his reeling mind, he thought back carefully. The way she'd initially reacted when he'd brushed her face that day in Madame Malkin's, and caught her arm just a few hours later. And the way she acted around Snape, the other male teachers; come to think of it, she was even cautious around Ron, and he was supposed to be her best male friend. It made him cold to the core, and angry to boot. Very gently, he tipped her face up so he could see her eyes.

"Grace, did they..." He didn't have to finish, the look on her face said everything. Angry beyond what he thought he was capable of, he pulled away from her and went to the window. "You don't have to tell me, but I'd consider it a favor if you did." His voice was rougher than he expected. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the window pane. "How long?"

"Eight years."

"Eight years! You where what, nine? Bloody Christ! Was it your uncle?"

"No." Her voice sounded thick, like she was trying not to cry.

"You cousin, then? One of his friends?" Draco knew he was demanding the information of her, knew he shouldn't, but he had to know. She didn't respond, and he turned around to find her back to him, her head bowed. "It was your cousin, wasn't it? Darren, Daniel, whatever his name is."

"Dudley," she whispered, correcting him automatically. "Don't do it though."

"Do what?"

"Don't write to your father, or to Sirius, or whomever you were going to and tell them about this, hoping to have my family dealt with in a haze of vindictive fury. Don't do it. Please."

The commanding ring of her tone caught him off guard, the 'please' had been merely a formality. How had she known? She was too young to be that accomplished a Ligillimens. She turned around and answered his question before he could give it voice.

"Its what I would do, if it were me in your place." Grace took a half step forward and slipped her small hands into his larger ones. "They are the only ties I have left to my mother's family. Petunia is the only hope I'll ever have of being able to find my grandparents, if they're still alive, and if I can ever forgive her enough to speak to her again. Just because her husband and son have done unspeakable things, it doesn't mean I wish them harm." She took another half step and rested her head against his chest, suddenly exhausted. "I'm asking you, please, to not tell anyone. Not Sirius, not Dumbledore, not Ron or Hermione. And god forbid I should ever catch wind of you telling your father or anyone of his ilk, because anything they do to the Dursleys will look a picnic compared to what I'll do to you."

She said it lightly, but Draco believed every word. "I won't breathe a word to anyone," he promised. "And I won't leave you to deal with all this on your own. And to hell with my image and the gossip mill."


End file.
